


One million moments until the end.

by Toxxapex



Category: Christian Bible, Original Work
Genre: Gen, I wrote this at 8 am after an all-nighter., Introspection, Religion, This is kind of bland.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:15:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24662890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toxxapex/pseuds/Toxxapex
Summary: An old man sits alone in a room, thinking.





	One million moments until the end.

Silence, save for the ticking of the old clock, counting down a million moments until the world's end.

A glimpse of smoke, fading and unraveling upwards- An ember at the lit tip of a cigarette, protruding from chapped lips, another deep drag of smoke being taken in, filling His lungs with a harsh burn before pouring out, continuing the cycle again.

His eyes weren't focused on anything in particular- they did not stray from their position, staring at- or perhaps through- the cracked wooden walls, smoke clouding His view. How long had He sat there motionless? How long had He watched from afar, with no care for the outcome of it all?

The world almost faded for a moment- His eyes had shut at some point, blacking His view for no more than a second- That had been happening more often, hadn't it? A sign of His age, perhaps...

He thought about His sons, seeing them in the long, thin breath of smoke that pushed through His dark, thin lips. He saw the sharp dress of His oldest, the quiet, morose demeanor of His middle- And the angry eyes of His youngest. His favorite- Of course he was. They had gotten that right, at least. For all they had missed the mark on, they had at least remembered (After a time) that even He had His favorites.

His eyes caught onto something for a moment- A spider crawling alongside the wall- But soon enough, He lost interest, sight fading once more into a blind gaze.

A drag of smoke, a heavy exhale- The room was filling with smoke. Perhaps it was a fire, or perhaps not- It hardly mattered.

He was old.

Too old, now, to care.

...No, it wasn't a fire.

There was no smell of heat, no burning on His skin.

No cries for help.

Not a fire, then.

A million moments 'til the world's end.

He still remembered the sound of His Son's voice, decrying Him as a liar, a traitor, a million other things- His Son was right, of course. He had never been good, never been kind. But He had been just, or had tried to be- It wasn't easy. It was never easy. But to rebel, as a child, angered over the loss of a toy? Even now, He couldn't understand it. ...Perhaps He wasn't meant to understand. How ironic- Of all the things He knew, His own Son's actions were fated not to be one of them.

Another deep drag, and His first movement in what could have been hours, could have been days- He raised His weary hand, taking the cigarette from His mouth, tossing it to the ground, crushing it beneath His boot- It joined the hundreds of discarded butts that littered the room's floor, smoldering for a moment before finally fading out.

He settled back in after a long moment, eyes no longer locked onto the distance- He stared down at His hands, the wrinkled old appendages that had lost their use so many years ago.

He had been young, once- Back when it all had started, He had been eager to watch, to keep His hands deep in the shit of His work, keeping it running like a well-oiled machine.

But now... All that was left of those well-meaning hands were these two decrepit claws.

A sigh breathed past his lips, like a cry for help- What He wouldn't give to have a conversation with His Sons...

But there was no point in crying over it all now.

One Million Moments 'Til The End.

Flint sparked against iron, lighting a cigarette that had found its way into His mouth. He leaned back in his seat, taking in a lungful of the smoke, letting it out, and watching the crack, watching it spread, watching it grow.

Again and again, never stopping for long. Another deep drag of smoke, filling His lungs with a harsh burn before pouring out, continuing the cycle again.

**Author's Note:**

> I am of the firm belief that if He exists, God's favorite place is an old bar in rural Texas, long forgotten by anybody who might happen to find him there. 
> 
> Wrote this after a long night- It's certainly nothing special, but it was what was going through my mind at the time.


End file.
